


i know, you know

by super



Category: N.Flying (Band)
Genre: Biting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-04-04 05:04:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14012778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/super/pseuds/super
Summary: It’s nothing special, he tells himself; Seunghyub’s biting thing extends to the other younger members of the band. Jaehyun takes it in his stride in his own bratty Jaehyun way and Hun scowls fiercely every time but never actually leans far away enough to avoid it. N.Flying loves its leader in a thousand little ways, Hweseung is learning, and he’s also quickly learningwhy.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [psikeval](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psikeval/gifts).



> i figured i ought to post the half of the fic i already have because i always need an external source of stress and accountability to meet deadlines. i'm extremely determined to finish this though! it'll just... take a while?
> 
> [psikeval](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psikeval/pseuds/psikeval) and i have been enabling each others' downfalls for weeks now so this fic is definitely for her. she's also written two fics already so if you're craving for more of the 2seung2furious content please go [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/psikeval/pseuds/psikeval/works?fandom_id=17733339) and then come yell at me on my shitpost twitter over [here](https://twitter.com/seungseungs), thanks. 
> 
> anyway: seungseung is not real despite how little chill seunghyub has. **this is all fictional garbage** and if n.flying sees this i will have to learn how to hack the internet and delete its entire existence. do Not even, i s2g

  

* * *

 

  

The first time Seunghyub does it, Hweseung nearly jumps out of his skin.

It’s summer and humid and they’re winding down from band practice to the sounds of Jaehyun’s idle drumming, two straight hours of non-stop jamming mellowing everyone out to the point where no one’s in a hurry to tidy up and leave just yet. The back of Hweseung’s shirt keeps sticking to his skin so he shifts against the amp he’s slumped against and ends up jostling Seunghyub.

“Sorry,” he murmurs automatically, voice raspy from trying too hard. Seunghyub only crosses his ridiculously long legs neatly under him and leans harder.

Which is a surprise.

Everything Seunghyub does surprises Hweseung, who had _expectations_ when he first joined the band, most of which -- to his credit -- have more or less been proven to be accurate. Their dear leader remains the exception to the rule and Hweseung’s not quite sure what to do with that. 

He’d gone home and scoured the internet for videos the day they assigned him to a group. Research -- that was what Hweseung called it, and it made sense to him even as his piece of crap laptop struggled to load the twenty Youtube video tabs he’d opened. But as he worked his way down the list of existing discography and performances the heady buzz of anticipation turned into something a little less nice. And by the time he’d gotten to footage of N.Flying’s earlier live performances in Japan, Hweseung was certain they’d made a mistake somehow.

“I don’t think Chahun hyung’s very impressed with me,” Hweseung says quietly. He doesn’t think anyone else will be able to hear his confession over the absolute din Jaehyun is making behind them.

Seunghyub straightens up immediately. “Why do you say that?” He asks, voice pitched low, head cocked and brows furrowed with genuine concern that Hweseung hasn’t yet learned to expect of him.

“My voice,” Hweseung says, and tries not to look as devastated as he feels. “It doesn’t fit.” Too sweet, too soft, too _something_ for the crash of Jaehyun’s drums, the growl of Seunghyub’s voice, the effortless cool of Kwangjin’s bass, for the intimidating, wailing intensity of Chahun’s guitar.

Hweseung doesn’t fit.

The dismay on Seunghyub’s face is apparent, and Hweseung wonders why he ever thought Seunghyub could be anything but terribly, terribly kind.

“Don’t mind Hunnie,” Seunghyub says, so earnestly that Hweseung has to look away for a bit, blinking the sting out of his eyes. Seunghyub makes a face and mimes a grumpy cat in Hun’s direction, which makes zero sense to Hweseung at all. “You were so good earlier, I could barely keep up.”

And then for some reason, he leans over and sinks his teeth into Hweseung’s shoulder, casual as you please, as if they didn’t officially meet each other just two weeks ago.

Hweseung yelps and jerks away, angst momentarily forgotten.

Seunghyub laughs and pats at the slightly damp semi-circle he’d left on Hweseung’s shirt. “You’re gonna make N.Flying _so good_ ,” he says, so full of conviction that Hweseung decides right then that he’ll probably die trying just for him.

 

\---

 

The second time’s a little less surprising, but only because Hweseung’s finally getting his feet under him.

And it turns out Seunghyub was right; underneath Chahun’s extremely attractive resting bitch face is a slightly smaller, equally attractive bitch face with a heart of gold. Which also means that he hasn’t stopped trying to feed Hweseung since they muddled past the initial awkward friendship stage.

He’s eating one of Hun’s pasta dishes out of a plastic container between recording sessions when Seunghyub bites him again.

Hweseung doesn’t yelp this time, but it’s mostly because his mouth is full of pasta. “Hmmgh?!” he says instead.

“How come you get food and I don’t?” Seunghyub complains.

Hweseung squints at him and swallows his mouthful of carbs. “Are you jealous?”

Seunghyub pouts and eats half a banana in one bite.

Hweseung squints harder. “... Are you _sulking_?” 

“HE’S TOTALLY SULKING,” Jaehyun supplies helpfully from across the studio.

“YA KIM JAEHYUN, NOBODY ASKED YOU,” Seunghyub bellows over his shoulder. And then -- far more nicely -- says: “I’m not sulking,” to Hweseung before he finishes the rest of his banana.

“Okay,” Hweseung says slowly. He offers a forkful of pasta anyway. “Want some?” 

Seunghyub _beams_ at him, and Hweseung’s stomach does a funny little flip. He feeds Seunghyub the rest of the pasta after that.

 

\---

 

It’s nothing special, he tells himself; Seunghyub’s biting thing extends to the other younger members of the band. Jaehyun takes it in his stride in his own bratty Jaehyun way and Hun scowls fiercely every time but never actually leans far away enough to avoid it. N.Flying loves its leader in a thousand little ways, Hweseung is learning, and he’s also quickly learning _why_.

 

\---

 

Three times is a pattern, Hweseung supposes. At 39,000 feet above the ground it’s a little hard to think clearly.

He’s wedged between Seunghyub and the window in economy class this time, sweaty palms gripping the seat rests while the rest of the plane rattles around them. The flight from Korea to Japan is barely the length of a decent movie but Hweseung thinks he might not even make it through takeoff if he keeps thinking about how fucking high up in the air they are.

He closes his eyes and exhales in a quiet rush.

“You okay?” Seunghyub says.

“Yes,” Hweseung says, quite untruthfully.

Seunghyub’s skepticism is palpable. Hweseung jolts slightly when he feels Seunghyub’s hand on his own, long fingers gently prying his own out of the deathgrip he’s developed. To Seunghyub’s right, Kwangjin snores softly, apparently okay with the fact that they’re travelling in a giant metal deathtrap. _The handsome fool._

“I didn’t bring a parachute,” Hweseung moans in despair, only half joking. 

Seunghyub chuckles softly and laces their fingers together. Hweseung is far too distressed not to cling a little. “Is it too soon to make an N.Flying joke?”

Hweseung groans.

“Get it? N.Flying? Because we’re --”  
  
“Hyung, _please_.”

This time, when Seunghyub bites him, Hweseung feels the soft curl of his lips through the t-shirt he’s wearing. It lasts a little longer than the other times and is hardly a bite at all — just the barest pressure of teeth against Hweseung’s shoulder. They inhale and exhale quietly together, falling in perfect sync like they do onstage, and Seunghyub’s breath condenses on the thin cotton, warm.

Hweseung feels his sanity unravel a little bit at that.

“Try to sleep a little,” Seunghyub says, patting his own shoulder in invitation before rooting around for his airline-issued headphones with his one free hand. “Hyung won’t even get mad if you drool on me.”

Now that Hweseung’s managed to pry his eyes open, he’s realising how awkwardly Seunghyub’s folded his sexy weird beanstalk body into his narrow seat, Coco playing silently on the screen in front of him. It’s disgustingly endearing.

Seunghyub’s shoulder turns out to be far too bony to be comfortable but Hweseung supposes it’s better than the alternative. They make it to Japan in one piece.

 

\---

 

After that, Hweseung stops counting. There are notable mentions -- like that one time Seunghyub got excited and bit him too hard and spent the rest of the day apologizing for it, or the time Hweseung shrugged at something Kwangjin said and turned around to find Seunghyub clutching his face on the ground -- and then there are other times where it’s just a friendly ‘good morning’ shoulder munch. It keeps happening. And the mental box Hweseung shoves every dangerous, soft thought about Seunghyub into is nearly at capacity.

 

\---

 

Hweseung comes awake to gentle shoving one day. Having just been freed from the gym and Kwangjin’s clutches, Hweseung rolls over and shoves his face into his pillow with a whine. 

“Move over,” Seunghyub says. The shoving becomes insistent.

Hweseung decides playing dead is the best option.

“Hweseung-ah,” Seunghyub says, a plaintive note creeping into his voice. He takes to gripping Hweseung’s sore shoulders and shaking him. “Hweseung-ah, Jaehyun put all our laundry on my bed and I want to nap before our livestream.”

It takes a herculean effort but Hweseung eventually makes space, one eye opened to a slit as he watches Seunghyub scoot close and settle in. It’s… well. It’s not unpleasant.

“There are three other beds in the house, you know,” Hweseung grouses without too much feeling. The late afternoon sunlight filtering in through the bedroom window turns Seunghyub’s profile golden.

“But yours smells the nicest,” Seunghyub slurs, already half gone. His penchant for running himself ragged with a billion projects makes him notoriously hard to rouse from sleep once he actually gets there. 

“It’s just Febreeze,” Hweseung says, lulled by the soft stillness of the moment. “I keep telling you that.”

Seunghyub makes a noncommittal rumbly noise in his chest and drops right off to sleep. And as with everything Seunghyub does, Hweseung happily follows suit.

 

\---

 

The next time Hweseung wakes up he finds himself firmly trapped under Seunghyub’s arm and marinating in sweat. Seunghyub, predictably, is dead to the world, his chest rising and falling evenly under Hweseung’s palm, completely unbothered by their shared heat in the burrow of Hweseung’s blankets.

Seunghyub is drooling into Hweseung’s only pillow and he can’t even bring himself to mind it. And in that exact, clarifying, _terrible_ moment Hweseung realizes just how fucked he is.

 

\---

 

The Vlive goes off without a hitch; the rest of the band is loud and distracting enough for Hweseung to sit back and tap on hearts when he runs out of words to say. He’d carefully crawled out from under Seunghyub’s arm like a coward earlier, busying himself with the routine of looking presentable for the camera instead of thinking too hard about this debilitating crush that snuck up on him. 

Seunghyub’s long-fingered hand drums idly on the table by the phone Hweseung’s messing around with. 

Kwangjin had finally been the one to kick Seunghyub out of Hweseung’s bed and their shared room. The extra two hours of sleep seems to have done something good for him; Seunghyub is loose-limbed and charming beside him, N.Flying’s leader through and through. And it’s not like Hweseung’s been looking -- because he emphatically _hasn’t_ \-- but the faint hint of bruising under Seunghyub’s eyes is gone.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Seunghyub pauses mid-sentence to say, and Hweseung blinks twice before he manages to gather enough of his brain cells to answer.

“No reason,” Hweseung says extremely wittily while the rest of the band looks on.

“... ANYWAY,” Jaehyun interjects before the silence stretches on for too long. In full MC mode, Jaehyun is chatty enough to carry a conversation on his own, and Hweseung eases back into the flow of effortless patter after that, the moment forgotten.

 

\---

 

What Hweseung failed to realize was that the internet sees everything. And above all, the internet does not forget.

Dozens of gifs show up that same night and Jaehyun shoves his phone in Hweseung’s face while they’re lying around after dinner. On it is an endless loop of Hweseung gazing at Seunghyub, mouth agape, with the most besotted expression on his stupid, stupid face.

“Wow,” Hun says. “Did you really let your mouth hang open like that?”

Hweseung doesn’t answer because he’s in the middle of an out of body experience. He watches his stupid tiny gif self, ears ringing.

“They kind of like it though,” Kwangjin says, always fair.

Seunghyub hooks his chin on Hweseung’s shoulder and reaches around him to tilt the phone in his direction. “Ah, Hweseungie looks cute as always,” he says, scrolling through the fledgling Seungseung hashtag with a crooked smile, and Hweseung brain feels like it’s about to explode.

“Gotta give the fans what they want, right?” Hweseung croaks eventually, and swallows a hysterical giggle.

The look Seunghyub gives him is an odd one; Hweseung misses the long press of Seunghyub’s chest against his back the second it goes away.

“Yeah,” Seunghyub says softly, frowning down at the phone. “Fanservice.”

 

\---

 

It’s not like Hweseung’s a child. As much as his hyungs baby him sometimes, Hweseung knows full well the kind of industry he’s chosen to be in. It’s about keeping up appearances, about being likeable and marketable and -- in Hweseung’s case in particular -- it’s about being cute.

It’s just show business.

And if part of his job requires him to lean into Seunghyub every chance he gets, to huddle a little closer whenever Seunghyub curls a hand around his waist -- who is Hweseung to complain?

 

\---

 

They reach an understanding after that. It’s not like playing it up for the cameras is particularly difficult; Hweseung gravitates to Seunghyub’s side naturally and Seunghyub is always ready with an outstretched arm to drag him close.

The arm slung around his shoulders transitions to a proprietary hand on the small of his back while they pick teams. Seunghyub shamelessly and blatantly plays favourites and Hweseung preens under the preferential treatment. A lingering shoulder bite concludes their latest Vlive.

Unsurprisingly, Seunghyub is _good_ at this. He supposes it’s the difference in experience, or the fact that Seunghyub’s done dramas and that he’s excels at everything simply because he’s Seunghyub. The point is: it’s convincing, even to Hweseung, and the sudden self-awareness is fucking him up a little.

Seunghyub watches him carefully when the camera is put away. There is the slightest shift in his body language and he’s holding himself a little less loosely than before, leaning into Hweseung a little less.

“Was that okay?” Seunghyub asks, ever-considerate, ducking his head a little to look Hweseung in the eye.

“Yes, hyung,” Hweseung says, because it’s not Seunghyub’s fault he has feelings that shouldn’t exist. “You were great.”

“You too,” Seunghyub says, and there’s that look again -- the one Hweseung can’t quite read, where the smile on Seunghyub’s face looks more like a grimace than anything. He pats Hweseung on the shoulder twice and disengages entirely.

“Thanks,” Hweseung says, and tries not to think about it for the rest of the day.

 

\---

 

It is Halloween and also Seunghyub’s birthday. The fold-out couch is a hit, and Seunghyub throws himself onto it and hugs a cushion while the others eat cake, looking terribly fond and a little overwhelmed.

Hweseung settles on the edge of the couch and hands him a slice of cake on a paper napkin and gets a ‘thank you’ nip on the shoulder in return.

“I love it,” Seunghyub declares, kicking his feet up and flopping backwards, starfishing all over his birthday present. He wraps a hand around Hweseung’s wrist when he’s done rolling around. “Thank you,” he says, eyes wide and dark and serious, and Hweseung is afraid, mostly, of the knowledge that he’d go through all that trouble a hundred times over when he says ‘You’re welcome’.

 

\---

 

It is Halloween and also Seunghyub’s birthday and their usual bar is decked out in fake cobwebs and little pumpkin-shaped fairy lights when they troop in after practice. They send Kwangjin on the quest for drinks and he returns to their booth with soju and cat ears on his head somehow, a little rumpled from fighting through the crowd.

The kitty ears go on Seunghyub’s head and then they drink because they have nothing public scheduled the next day, no cameras or appearances to worry about in the very likely event of a hangover, no real responsibilities tonight except to celebrate their leader loudly and drunkenly. Which is why Jaehyun disappears and shows up again with chicken and -- most importantly -- _more_ soju ‘but grapefruit this time’, and Hun cheers so loudly that Kwangjin sloshes half the non-grapefruit contents of his shot glass onto the table. 

There are days when the scrutiny is overwhelming, when their schedules are packed to the brim from dorm to agency to music show after music show after music show and it is all so _big_ that Hweseung can barely find it in him to breathe. And then there are days like this: days where they get to just be people, and N.Flying is just Jaehyun’s arm around Hun’s shoulders, Kwangjin pouring drinks for everyone and Seunghyub’s elbow bumping against his own.

Hweseung loves his band, utterly and sincerely; it’s not exactly a secret. But one-drink Hweseung makes this sentiment known immediately because one-drink Hweseung is a sappy mess.

“Love you too, Hweseungie,” Jaehyun says loudly -- since one-drink Jaehyun is somehow even louder than his normal self -- and blows a sloppy kiss at Hweseung.

The grin on Seunghyub’s face is fierce and sharp and bright; he raises his shot glass with one hand and tugs Hweseung close with the other, flushed with drink and pride. “To N.Flying,” he toasts, and they all raise their glasses with a yell.

“Let’s roll!”

 

\---

 

That was two hours ago.

Two-bottle Hweseung is a terror and a bit of a nudist. He’s lost track of his pants somehow but he’s too busy trying to cook instant ramyeon to look for it. Going by the commotion, Hun’s trying to roll Jaehyun up the stairs to their rooms, and Kwangjin, always in possession of his sanity, has washed his hands of all of their nonsense and gone to bed.

Seunghyub has plastered himself to Hweseung’s back in the meantime, humming softly to himself and holding them both upright while Hweseung drunk-cooks in his boxers. It’s the least awkward they’ve been off-camera since The Staring Incident, so Hweseung says nothing -- simply sways into Seunghyub’s grasp and stays there. 

Seunghyub breaks the silence eventually.

“You realize the stove’s not on, right,” he says, several long minutes later, a low, amused rumble in Hweseung’s ear.

Hweseung stares at the ramyeon block floating sadly in tap water, betrayed.

Seunghyub plucks the chopsticks out of Hweseung’s hand and tosses them into the sink. He misses terribly, but that’s a problem for tomorrow’s Seunghyub, apparently; he shrugs and makes no move to pick them up. “Okay, no more cooking,” Seunghyub says, maneuvering Hweseung out of the kitchen and into the living room, where he manages to pour Hweseung onto the couch without incident. “Time to sober up.”

Hweseung lists sideways immediately and Seunghyub catches him with a sigh.

“Are you going to cook for me?” Hweseung asks, sliding the rest of the way down and using Seunghyub’s lap as a pillow. “I’m hungry.”

Seunghyub has his hand in Hweseung’s hair, fingers carding through the strands gently. “Nope,” he says. “I’m banned from the kitchen for a reason.”

He doesn’t know why he does it, or why he thinks it would be a good idea because it really isn’t, and he really, really shouldn’t. But it’s 3am and Seunghyub’s eyes are closed, his head tipped back against the back of the couch, and all Hweseung has to do is sit up and tilt his head a little and press his lips to Seunghyub’s soft mouth.

Seunghyub doesn’t startle so much as go completely still.

Hweseung, in all his liquor-borne courage, kisses him a second time, softer this time, coaxing, and Seunghyub -- finally, thankfully -- makes a small, desperate sound in his throat and kisses back.

He reaches up and curls a hand at the nape of Hweseung’s neck, neither pulling or pushing -- simply holding Hweseung in place as he opens up for him, like he’s afraid Hweseung might stop, somehow, as if it was even possible for someone as far gone as Hweseung is. So he settles fully into Seunghyub’s lap and does the opposite, and he kisses Seunghyub like he’s wanted to for months: long and soft and terribly, terribly sweet.

It’s perfect until Seunghyub comes to his senses.

“Sorry--” Seunghyub gasps when he wrenches away from Hweseung. “I’m sorry,” he says again, attempting to ease out from under Hweseung’s weight, and Hweseung lets him go, lurching sideways off him and back onto the couch cushions, chest going tight with growing panic.

“Hyung, I didn’t mean to --” he starts and doesn’t finish. Seunghyub’s expression is awful even in the darkness of their living room, wide-eyed and hurt. Hweseung can barely breathe. He’s fucked up.

“It’s fine,” Seunghyub says, even when it’s clearly not. He scrubs at his lips with the back of his hand and Hweseung flinches. “You should probably sleep.”

Hweseung waits for Seunghyub’s door to close fully before he lets himself cry.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take this for now
> 
> i'm still determined to finish this but i write so slowly i feel like they might have another comeback before i return with a new chapter rip

Morning is horrible for several reasons:

  1. The inevitable hangover
  2. The gnawing, sinking feeling that he’s fucked things up between him and Seunghyub
  3. Waking up on the couch with eyes so puffy that Kwangjin took one look at him and slapped an ice pack onto his face before going out for a run
  4. The gnawing, sinking feeling that he’s _thoroughly and irrevocably_ fucked things up between him and Seunghyub



 

Two-bottle Hweseung is an idiot.

He spends the rest of the morning in bed, curled up under the blankets and catching up on his Japanese homework (read: hiding). He hears Seunghyub’s door slide open a little past noon and cringes a little deeper into the little nest he’s built for himself, frozen by the magnitude of his mistake and the memory of the wounded expression on Seunghyub’s face.

On the other side of Hweseung’s door the rest of the dorm quietly goes about its day, their usual boisterousness dampened in the wake of last night’s festivities. Kwangjin comes in much, much later to grab a change of clothes and to do a little drive-by fussing.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks for the third time, frowning as he removes his hand from Hweseung’s forehead. “You missed lunch earlier. Hun made kimchi stew.”

Kwangjin is kind to him just like all the other members are kind to him; so immediate and unhesitating was their adoration that Hweseung could do nothing less than adore them in turn. Therefore the whole mess with Seunghyub notwithstanding Hweseung loves them all with a ferocity that surprises even himself, and he realizes, suddenly, that he may have ruined his friendship with the other members as well.

Hweseung is theirs now, yes — Jaehyun has declared it often enough to put any doubts about that out of his mind — but Seunghyub was theirs _first,_ and Hweseung is terrified of what they’ll think when they find out what he’s done. 

He presses his knuckles against his eyelids to keep the prick of tears at bay.

“Just hungover,” Hweseung says, blinking down at his flashcards until his vision clears. He doesn’t have to act too hard to look like he’s about to be sick. “Had too much to drink last night, you know how it goes.”

“Not really,” Kwangjin says softly. He motions at the bed in his own awkward Kwangjin way and Hweseung gathers the blankets around himself to make space for him. “Moderation is the key to a healthy life.”

Hweseung’s laughter sticks in his throat. “Who said that? It’s corny.”

“Kwon Kwangjin."

“Did you just quote yourself, hyung?”

“You’re in no position to judge,” Kwangjin says, tucking Hweseung under his arm. “I found your pants under the stairs this morning.”

They sit like this for a bit, and Hweseung dozes off eventually.

 

\---

 

It was too much to hope for, probably, to expect the other members to leave it alone. 

Hweseung supposes skipping dinner might’ve set off too many alarm bells. It doesn’t take a genius to know that Yoo Hweseung doesn’t fuck around when it comes to food, and two skipped meals in a day apparently warrants a hushed group conversation in the living room that Hweseung can absolutely hear is happening. The walls in this place are far, far too thin. He can’t make out the words exactly but his hyungs are radiating enough concern that he drags himself into an upright position and squints at the door in anticipation.

Seunghyub eventually lets himself in.

“We probably need to talk,” Seunghyub says, never one to shy from confrontation. Normally, it’s something Hweseung admires about him, but to be on the receiving end of Seunghyub’s bravery after having just fallen short of it himself is. Well. It doesn’t feel great.

It’s dark in the room and Seunghyub doesn’t move to switch the light on, which suits Hweseung just fine. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle this much honesty at once.

The simple truth is that space isn’t a luxury that’s afforded to them. They’ll have to work something out before the day’s out. Seunghyub probably knows this, and Hweseung wishes fervently that he’d been less stupid about it, that he’d held a little tighter onto his emotions, had shoved it aside like a professional and never thought about it again. Because Seunghyub looks about as bad as Hweseung feels, and even now -- even after all of _that_ \-- Hweseung wants nothing more than to wipe the bruises under Seunghyub’s eyes away with his thumbs.

“I shouldn’t have done it,” Hweseung blurts.

Seunghyub’s gaze is sharp and still in the darkness.

“I was drunk and stupid and I didn’t mean to kiss you,” Hweseung says in a rush, hating the silence between them, the careful space Seunghyub leaves when he sits on the floor. Hweseung did this. He ruined a good thing with his greed, and now Seunghyub won't even fucking look at him. “Please forgive me, hyung. I’m so sorry.”

“I thought as much,” Seunghyub says softly, and there is something awful and bleak in his voice, in the bitter set of his smile. “Don’t worry about it. I knew you were drunk, too, and I didn’t…”

Seunghyub sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“It won’t, hyung,” Hweseung promises, grateful for the chance he’s given, desperate for it. He ignores the dull ache in his chest and the gaping sense of loss when he remembers the way Seunghyub had sighed into his mouth and yielded so sweetly, dark lashes brushing the tips of Hweseung’s thumbs. 

He wants so desperately that it hurts.

“It won’t happen again.”

 

—-


End file.
